A Muggle in the Auror Office
by Honorius12
Summary: Helen Bradley's life was never easy, but it was quite normal. Things are about to get quite difficult and abnormal after she witnesses something that she shouldn't, and gets drawn into the most secret organization of investigators in all of Britain. Did I mention that they use magic?
1. The Secret Sorcerors, Part One

Helen Bradley walked slowly through one of the lonelier streets of London. She was a short woman with curly dark brown hair and tired, dark brown eyes. It was just a couple of weeks after her thirtieth birthday, and her life up to that point had been, if anything, uneventful and unhappy. Taken off of the streets as a baby, she was sent to an orphanage to spend the rest of her childhood. She at one time had a couple of friends, but the unusually quick traffic kept her from developing any lasting relationships. Even the staff was extremely distant with her, even after eighteen years of her presence. She wondered in later years how such uncaring people could be left with children to care for.

The exception was Miss Marvin, who became somewhat of a surrogate mother to her. She was the one who would talk to her outside of regular duties, who gave attention to her, something which the other staff were either unwilling to do, or otherwise focused on other kids. In retrospect, she wondered if the staff didn't play favorites, and that Miss Marvin simply did this with her. Still, she had always felt that Miss Marvin had always had a more caring disposition than her coworkers.

After secondary school, Helen left the orphanage to attend a university. While her grades from high school were good, they were not scholarship material. It was by luck (and her unfortunate background) that she was given a grant from a government program to attend for awhile while she earned money to hopefully stay long enough to earn a degree; her dream was to become a forensics expert. She struggled her first year, and had trouble keeping a steady job while continuing her studies.

Eventually, the grant ran out. Miss Marvin had stayed in contact with her, and reached into her own savings to try to keep Helen in school. Unfortunately, Miss Marvin's pockets only ran so deep, and Helen had to forbid her from paying for more of her classes after a semester. And so she went to search for a job. Hopefully, even without a degree, she would be able to scrape by, she thought. Alas, she did very poorly with job interviews, and even when she acquired a job, she found it to be dead end, and could not keep any for more than a year. At the time, she was unemployed. She had been laid off from her job at a bookstore a month ago, and had held several interviews with potential employers in the past couple of weeks, scrambling to find a source of income to keep herself from falling onto skid row. She was walking away from an office that she correctly expected to never return to. She flubbed half of the questions, could not stop stuttering, and to cap off the disaster, tripped and broke the leg off of a wooden table on her way out.

She stopped by the post office, where she found a solitary letter from Miss Marvin. She opened it and a check fell out. Miss Marvin had not stopped sending her money after Helen had asked her not to, though she sent less to try to appease her. Depending on Helen's mood, she either pocketed the checks or tore them up. Today, she was too dejected to tear the check up, and pocketed it. She walked down the lonely street towards her apartment building. With no job on the horizon, she had to pack up her things and move out. She did not know where she would go. She figured that if she couldn't land a job, she'd have to ask Miss Marvin to support her for the time being. She could not see any other solution, but she hated the idea after having told her years ago to stop paying for her education, and for years telling her that she didn't need her constant checks. She continued walking, becoming slower and slower, perhaps hoping not to have to come to her apartment, which she would have to clear out of.

Suddenly, someone barreled into her from behind. She fell forward, hitting the pavement with her hands and knees. She looked up and saw a man running away from her.

"STOP!"

A man's voice shouted from behind her and passed her, chasing after the other man. They turned a corner, running out of sight. This sudden shock incensed her, and she ran towards the corner in a fit of anger. By the time she reached what turned out to be a short dead end, her anger had shrunk into annoyed curiosity. She peeked around the corner, and saw two very odd men. The one which had knocked her over was wearing what seemed to be a leather jacket and a pair of long underwear. He seemed to have run into a brick wall too tall to climb. From the back, the other appeared to be wearing some sort of cape which obscured his clothing from her sight. Both were inexplicably holding sticks, neither which could have been longer than a foot.

The first man turned around. He was dirty and unkempt, with long messy black hair and a thin, but scruffy-looking beard. He raised the hand with holding the stick, as if he were about to throw it. To Helen's complete shock, he slashed through the air with it, sending a wave of colorful light at the caped man. The caped man reflexively flicked his own stick, deflecting the light to the side. Not a second had passed after it hit the wall when he sent a red jet of light at the bearded man. It made contact, and the man was blasted back. He hit the brick wall, and collapsed onto the ground. The caped man pocketed his stick, and walked towards the bearded man, who seemed unconscious.

Suddenly, she sneezed. The caped man turned quickly on the spot, making her jump back and land flat on her buttocks. She slowly stood up, rubbing them tenderly. She looked up and saw the caped man point his stick at her, causing her to back off quickly in fright, her hands jumping above her head. Before she could say anything, the man spoke.

"Obliviate," he muttered.

She felt an odd sensation in her head, and then she heard a loud "CRACK". She regained her senses quickly, only to find that the man was gone. She didn't see him leave, she didn't even seem to remember him leaving her sight. She had been dazed, and the only thing that seemed to fit in her memory was the man disappearing. She heard another loud "CRACK" from around the corner. She looked around, expecting to see the bearded man, lying unconscious. There was not a sign of life left. She thought back to the caped man. He had appeared to be in his thirties; he had blue eyes and sleek and shiny black hair. The cape had turned out not to be a cape at all, but some sort of full-body cloak.

She contemplated it for several minutes, decided that she'd probably forget it by the next day, and walked back towards her apartment, the grief that she had previously felt slowly returning. How wrong she was.


	2. The Secret Sorcerors, Part Two

It was very late. After reaching her apartment, she could not figure out what to do. Distraught, she left without planning her next move or moving any of her things. She walked over to a small café and ordered a coffee. It only figured that she was no longer thirsty when it arrived. As she was leaving the joint, she spotted twin entrances to male and female restrooms. She suddenly felt the urge to go, and rushed towards the twin entrances. The urgent vanished as soon as it had come when she saw a cloaked figure emerge from the stall opposite to the one she approached. He looked at Helen, did a double take, and then quickly looked away. He hastened away from the stalls. Helen knew that he was the man from the dead end. Helen caught up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. The man jumped.

"What is it?!" he turned around, and did another double take, more pronounced than the last. "Err, can I be of any help, miss?" he asked.

"I would like to know what was going on in that back alley, what with the odd lights and your vanishing act."

The cloaked man did his most violent double take yet. "E-Excuse me?!" he exclaimed.

"You and that other man were pointing short sticks at each other, making some sort of odd lights shoot at each other; yours which knocked the other man unconscious."

"Blast!" the man shouted through gritted teeth. He reached into his cloak and pulled out his stick, pointing it at Helen.

"What are you doing?!" shouted Helen.

"Stupefy!" said the man.

A jet of red light burst from the end of the stick, knocking Helen to the ground and rendering her unconscious.

When Helen awoke, she was sitting in a chair in a small, rectangular room. The room was stark white, nondescript. She tried to stand up, but found that she could not. She was not restrained, but she just could not will herself to leave the chair. The chair was actually quite comfortable, and she didn't feel restrained at all, even when her best efforts failed to get her off of the lounge chair. Suddenly, she heard muffled voices from behind the chair.

"Obviously you did not administer the spell properly. Memory charms are quite difficult, even for an auror…"

"I knew exactly what I was doing. She couldn't have remembered…"

"But she did. Don't worry, you're a rookie, so I don't mind covering for your mistake."

She heard a door open behind her. Two men walked around from behind the chair to face her. One was the man from before, still wearing his black cloak. The other was a skinny man who looked to be upwards of sixty, who also wearing a cloak; this one a dark shade of violet.

"No need to worry, miss," he said to Helen. You won't remember a thing after we're done.

As kindly as he tried to make his words sound, the statement sent chills up Helen's spine. He took yet another stick out of his cloak, and pointed it at Helen. He seemed to be concentrating deeply. And then he spoke.

"Obliviate," he said, enunciating the word clearly and strongly.

Again, a vaguely dazed feeling came over Helen, which soon lifted.

"And that ought to do it," said the violet cloaked man. "In all likelihood, she will forget everything important once she leaves the premises of the Ministry."

"Thank you, sir," said the other man. He waved his own stick over the chair. "Come on miss, let's take you out of here…" he started.

He reached for her arm, but Helen stood up of her own accord, and backed behind the armchair. "I don't know what's going on, but someone better explain why sticks keep being pointed at me. You might not realize, but from my perspective, such things are quite threatening, and I…"

She stopped speaking to listen to the two men, who seemed to be arguing.

"She seems to be well aware of her surroundings."

"Do you mind telling me what you're playing at asking me to perform a memory charm on this girl?"

"You're the Obliviator, you perform them for a living!"

"I did it perfectly! I don't understand how she is retaining her memories!"

"That's what happened to me!"

"Is this some sort of joke, Rawlins?"

"Excuse me, but could one of you tell me what the bloody hell is going on?!" interjected Helen.

The two ceased arguing.

"If it cannot be helped," said the violet cloaked man, "then I can be of no more use to you. Good day, Rawlins." And he left in a huff, rudely pushing Helen aside.

The black cloaked man looked back to Helen. "Could you please wait here?", he asked, gesturing outside of the room. Helen cautiously walked through the door at his beckoning. He followed her, and walked ahead. Helen looked around, and saw that the small room seemed to be adjoined to an office, filled with cubicles, which at the current time were empty. The man walked through a pair of wooden doors, leaving Helen alone in the office.

She looked around. At first glance, the office seemed quite ordinary, but then she looked inside one of the cubicles. She was caught off guard by flashes of movement. She looked closer, and to her shock, found black and white photographs with their subjects in movement. One photograph was of a couple, who seemed ecstatically happy; apparently unaware that they were in a photograph. Gazing at the picture, Helen observed that though they were moving, their state of minds seemed not to change, as they smiled and laughed without end. She pulled her gaze away from the photograph, when another photograph caught her eye. This one featured a brawny young man against a backdrop of what appeared to be open sky. To Helen's surprise, the man seemed to be flying against the backdrop atop some strange vehicle, carrying a red sphere. Helen removed the photograph, which was tacked to the wall. She turned it over in her hands. It appeared to be a normal photograph from every angle, except it looked like a silent film from the front. It seemed so real, yet it had to be some sort of trick image. Suddenly, she noticed a scrawl in the bottom left corner.

"_To my fan and friend, Henry Chambers, yours personally, Ewan Carson._"

From the context, calling the recipient a "fan", and from the style of the photograph and build of the subject, Helen guessed that he was an athlete, like a football player or something. He didn't look like a football player from what he was doing; carrying a red ball while flying in the sky. She continued to survey the image, when the greatest shock yet hit her. Upon closer inspection, she saw that the "vehicle" that the man was riding high in the sky upon a stick with a straw like material at the end. It was a long, old-fashioned broom.


	3. The Secret Sorcerors, Part Three

**Chapter Three**

Helen watched the man flying on a broom. The discovery caused a revelation. Flying broomsticks? Sticks shooting beams of light? This all seemed like something out of a witch's tale. Yet it was all here. She could tell that this was no dream. Everything had been far too vivid to be a dream. These people had to be sorcerers. Which meant that the sticks that the men had pointed at each other were magic wands. Helen was astounded that such things existed, and that she of all people was now privy to this secret. But what were these people doing? Why had that one man been chasing after the other man with the beard? Then something surfaced in her memory, distracting her. "_Memory charms…_""_retaining her memories…_""_won't remember a thing…_" She realized that they must have tried to make her forget what she saw, since she wasn't supposed to see them. No one was supposed to see them. But why? Was this some sort of conspiracy? Why are these people with amazing abilities keeping secrets? Were they doing something that they wouldn't want normal people knowing about? Were they committing crimes with their powers? Were they subverting authority?

Helen's mind reeled with the information, and with nothing else to do, she paced the office trying to imagine what other secrets there were that these mysterious men were hiding. She paced around the office, looking into other cubicles, with other moving photographs, some in color, black and white newspapers, all titled, "_The Daily Prophet_." One disturbing cubicle had several photographs of a single man completely covering it, one which looked like a wanted poster. Were they secret police? Bounty hunters? The way that cloaked man cornered the bearded man…

"What… is this?" Helen said to herself quietly.

Just then, a familiar face caught her eye. It was a photograph of the cloaked man. He was seated under two older people, a man and a woman, also wearing cloaks. Perhaps they were his parents. He seemed younger, perhaps in his early to mid twenties. If his parents weren't so calm and pleasant, Helen thought that it would be impossible to tell that the picture could move at all. Sitting stark still, she didn't even catch him blinking. The dignified way he sat, wearing the same black cloak as he did when Helen saw him last, made Helen think of a wigless barrister or judge. She looked around his cubicle. There wasn't much else to look at. On his desk sat a file. Helen opened it. Inside were a bunch of unmoving photographs of what seemed like ordinary people, half of them normal portraits, and the other half… they appeared to be sprawled on their backs, looks of shock on their faces. She read the descriptions next to them.

Name: George Mullins

Blood Status: Muggle

Cause of Death: A. K.

Name: Marsha Coke

Blood Status: Muggle

Cause of Death: A. K.

Name: Cecil Coke

Blood Status: Muggle

Cause of Death: A. K.

Name: Caroline Wilkinson

Blood Status: Muggle

Cause of Death: A. K.

Under the descriptive headings was other information. Their ages, occupations, where they were found, other circumstances involved in their deaths…

"Cause of death, AK," read Helen. These people all seemed to have died; recently, according to the additional information. Each person had a portrait, and a photograph of their corpse. But they didn't look like ordinary dead bodies. Each had their looks of horror seemingly etched into their faces. Their eyes were wide open, and they seemed limp. None of them showed any signs of death apart from their lack of movement.

"_It's almost as if they've died of shock,_" thought Helen. She looked at some more photographs. The other portraits inside the file moved, and they all looked unpleasant. They too looked like wanted posters. "_It almost looks like a murder investigation,_" thought Helen. "_And if these people can use magic…_" She thought of what terrible things could be happening at that moment with such deranged, powerful people being kept hidden. Then she looked up, back at the portrait of the cloaked man and his parents. She felt calmer. These people seemed to know the situation, and seemed capable of magic themselves. They might be the ones out to stop criminals who have these powers at their disposal. A small voice in her head interrupted, saying "_But why would they hide all of this from the rest of the world?_" The question troubled her. She continued looking through the file, and then found more photographs. They seemed to lack subjects, but then she realized that they were of locations, not people. Turned them around, and found Red X's on the backs of all of them except one. She turned the one around. She gasped, recognizing the building almost immediately. It was the orphanage from her childhood. She wondered shortly what it was doing amongst these photos, but it quickly dawned on her. No matter what the connection was, she had to get to the orphanage. Immediately.


	4. The Orphanage, Part One

Helen's mind raced as she looked for a way out of the office. What sort of things could put the orphanage on these people's' radar? She imagined the staff and orphans being added to the list of murder victims. She shuddered. She finally spotted an oddly conspicuous exit; a pair of large, wooden double doors, as if this was an old castle, instead of an office building. She opened the doors hurriedly, causing one of them to bang into a cabinet. The cabinet made an odd rattling sound. Helen looked at it with untimely curiosity, as the doors swung back and forth. She opened the cabinet, which was fortunately unlocked. She found it filled with several brooms. "_These might be my best chance to get to the orphanage as quickly as possible_", she thought. She took hold of one. The wooden broom's handle felt pleasing to the touch, and suddenly, she felt empowered. She rushed through the wooden doors with it clutched in her hands. She ran through a corridor with several other doors. She quickly found an elevator, which she took down. She felt confident with something she could use to escape in her hands. She was not even unnerved by the voice which announced the various floors as she descended without any speaker.

She reached the ground floor, a huge hall of sorts with a tall ceiling. She scanned the area, but could not see any exit. Her newfound courage began to ebb as she frantically looked for a way out. She ran down the hallway hoping in vain to see doors materialize as she rushed towards a brick wall at the other end. Suddenly, lights sprang up around her. She froze. Looking around, she saw that she was now surrounded by several green fires housed in fireplaces which she had not noticed before. She approached one of the fires to examine it, but before she could look closely at the flames, a figure emerged from the flames, and they collided.

"Oof!"

After a second on the ground, she regained her senses, grabbed the broom she had with her, and stood up. The person she had bumped into was a balding middle-aged redheaded man wearing some robes.

"Oh dear," he said. "I'm terribly sorry." He picked a pair of glasses off of the floor, rose to his feet and began to wipe them with his robes. He glanced up at Helen, and then suddenly paused. He stopped wiping his glasses and put them on.

As he started to look Helen over, another man came out of the fire behind him, and they fell to the ground like bowling pins. Finally grasping the function of the fireplace, Helen intuitively ran into the green flames. She felt herself pulled away into oblivion, and the next thing she knew, she was standing in a toilet, facing a dumbstruck man in blue robes. Feeling more unsure of herself by the second, she flew past him, as well as a line of men trailing from behind the stall, who all stared at her. She finally exited the building, and saw the entrance to the bathroom behind her, as well as an entrance to a women's room adjacent to it. Now a group of men and women were starting to assemble outside of the restrooms, gawking at her. She ran, and after a moment of running, found a secluded alleyway. She put the broom between her legs when suddenly, she realized she had no idea how a flying broomstick worked. She jumped into the air, thinking it wouldn't amount to anything. Instead, she was shot into the air.

She climbed and climbed and climbed. It was at about two thousand feet up when she started to scream at the top of her lungs. She tried to stop the broom's ascent by pointing the handle down, but she only managed to make it spin around and zigzag as she rose higher and higher. At about two miles high, the broom stopped gaining height, and by ceasing her body's movement, she managed to come to a complete stop. Scared stiff, she was compelled to relieve herself by screaming some more, forcing them out to distract from her deathly fear of falling thousands of feet to her death. After she ceased her shouts, she realized that she would have to bring herself down somehow. She tried slowly leaning forward, bringing the "nose" of the broom steadily down.

The broom slowly began to descend, when she lost her nerve and forced the broom down almost ninety degrees. She fell just as rapidly, if not more rapidly, than she rose. She resumed screaming, but at the same time trying to control the magic broomstick. Suddenly, she saw a bird's eye view of London. She visualized where the orphanage was in the vast metropolis, and tried to direct the broom in the vague direction she knew it was, while at the same time trying to pull out of the nosedive. With a bit of success, she managed to direct the broom across the Thames, and as she got closer and closer, she managed to single out the neighborhood where the orphanage was located. At the same time, she managed to slow the broom down.

At about fifty feet above the ground, and now right above the orphanage, she thought she might be able to make a perfect, safe landing. Unfortunately, the broom was not slowing down fast enough, and at that moment, she somehow caused the broom to spiral downward. Giving up, she let go of the broom and crashed into the roof. A sharp pain gripped her leg, which bore the brunt of the impact, as she slid backward off of the black shingled roof, falling a couple dozen feet into the garden. Luckily, her leg seemed to remain the worst of the damage, as she lay upon a bed of flattened tulips. Still, it was pretty bad, as she found herself unable to stand up upon her smashed leg. A piece of wood fell off of the roof; piece of the broom, broken off after impacting with the chimney. She turned over, and crawled across the lawn, dragging her broken leg as she scrambled towards the front door of the orphanage. She got onto the front step, and rammed her fists at the door, shouting.

"Someone let me in! Please! Someone let me in! Miss Marvin, it's Helen! Is everything alright?! Please let me in!"

Minutes passed as she pleaded for an answer, becoming more and more frightened of what was happening, or had already happened, on the other side of the door.


	5. The Orphanage, Part Two

The passage of time did nothing to assuage Helen's fears; rather, it fed them. Images of screaming, tied up children flashed through her head, then slowly turned into images of those same children lying limp and lifeless on the floor.

After what seemed like hours, the door suddenly opened. Helen looked up to see Miss Marvin standing over her. Miss Marvin was approaching sixty; her brown bob cut was liberally streaked with gray and her face was heavily lined, even for someone her age. Helen instantly knew something was wrong. While Miss Marvin had been just as lined and gray when they last met, now she was unmistakably thinner and sicklier. Not only was her lined face pallid and thin, but her expression was horrifically wide-eyed and unfathomably vacant.

"Helen," said Miss Marvin. Her voice sounded broken, as though she had not used her voice in weeks; and her tone sounded unnatural, as though she was unfamiliar with greeting people.

"Miss Marvin, please help me!" cried Helen. "My leg… I can't walk... please!"

Miss Marvin just stared at Helen, as she backed inside. "Come," she said, in the same unnatural voice. "Inside."

"Miss Marvin, what's wrong?" shouted Helen, now sobbing. "Help me! Why are you acting so strange?!"

Miss Marvin finally seemed to grasp the predicament that Helen was, and she pulled her inside; treating her body with less care than furniture as she was dragged across the threshold. The pain in her leg and Miss Marvin's frighteningly unnatural behavior kept her locked in a state of terror and grief, as she was unceremoniously dumped in the orphanage's entrance hallway. Miss Marvin rushed to close the door.

"Is someone in here?" asked Helen, her voice shaking. "Who's in here, Miss Marvin? Who's making you act like this?" She gasped uncontrollably because of her crying.

Miss Marvin put her hands over Helen's mouth, silencing her. She did not seem to be trying to calm Helen down. The force with which she covered her mouth and held her head to the floor further agitated Helen. She screamed from underneath Miss Marvin's gaunt hands. Miss Marvin then moved one of her hands to Helen's throat. Helen gasped and started to choke as Miss Marvin's hand mechanically pressed down on her airway.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps from behind Miss Marvin. She was unable to see who it was, but heard a man's voice utter some foreign words.

"Avada Kedavra."

Suddenly, the force that Miss Marvin exerted onto Helen's mouth and neck vanished. Helen stopped sobbing and looked up at Miss Marvin. She seemed to have been frozen in place. Suddenly, she flipped over Helen's lying figure. Helen shrieked as Miss Marvin fell across her and lay motionless on her other side. Suddenly, Helen was lifted into the air by her ankle, and was carried through the hallway into the dining room, which was empty.

As she was lowered onto the table, she saw that there was nothing holding her leg. She looked around, and saw the face of a frightening man standing above her, pointing a wand at her. Once she had rested onto the dining room table, she tried to get up, but found herself unable to move. The man walked around the table. He was about six feet tall, with blond hair. He was severely unkempt, more so than the man who had been apprehended in the streets, with spaghetti-like blonde hair, a scraggly blond beard, and torn, filthy black robes. He looked at Helen, and displayed for her a terrible grin. His teeth were even more unclean than his wardrobe, and at least two of them were missing.

"You're the one who crashed her broomstick into my roof," he said. He spoke in a voice disgusting enough to match his appearance, oily and nasally, trying to sound gruff and manly, yet he sounded no older than twenty. "Are you from the ministry? The Ministry shouldn't send bitches like you here. This is my house! If anyone tries to force me to leave, then they're gonna get more than they bargained for… especially ministry bitches."

He poked his wand at her pants, snorting with laughter. Helen's fear did not leave her, but was slowly being supplanted with rage and hatred.

"What did you do to Miss Marvin?" Helen asked, her voice shaking with fear and fury.

"Is that the muggle bitch's name?" asked the man mockingly. "Old muggles ain't worth shit, darling. That's why I didn't bother with her. You should be glad now, she's better off dead."

Helen gasped, and as her fear, sorrow, and anger all increased several fold.

"You… you killed her! You… you…" she was unable to finish and broke down into furious sobs.

"Surprised, are you? Perhaps you're…" he stopped. Then he started to giggle. "A muggle got hold of a broom and crashed into my house? No! That is just too much!" he giggled harder.

He jammed his magic wand into her left breast. It singed a hole in her clothing, and slightly burned her skin. "There's nothing you can do to save yourself. You're gonna die today."

Suddenly, all of Helen's pent-up emotions burst, and she shouted "THEN BLOODY KILL ME! KILL ME, YOU FILTHY, DISGUSTING BASTARD!"

The man chuckled loathsomely. "Oh, I'll put an end to your misery soon enough, but first I…"

*CRACK!*

A loud noise erupted from behind Helen, making the man jump backwards. He raised his magic wand, pointing it behind Helen, but before he could do a thing, a familiar voice shouted "STUPEFY!" A jet of light struck the man square in the chest, and he was blasted back into the wall. He then fell to the floor with a loud "thud!"

Helen was still breathing fast. She was overwhelmed by the events that had taken place in the last five minutes. As expected, the figure who walked around the table towards the unconscious man was none other than the original cloaked man, with his shiny black hair and blue eyes. He picked up the unconscious man's magic wand and then reached out to touch him, when he turned around, noticing Helen. He walked closer to her, until his face was right above hers.

"Don't worry, everything will be fine. For now, just relax…"

As he said relax, he moved his arm, as suddenly, the whole world around Helen seemed to melt into silence and darkness.


	6. Room 10-6, Part One

_To the perusing public: I hope that last extremely dark chapter didn't turn any of you off; any seven of you. Anyhoo, would love some feedback, and thanks to first two favorites from Zireael07 and .7. Enjoy Chapter 6!_

Helen awoke in a world of comfort. The bed she was sleeping in was so warm and cozy…

"_My bed isn't warm and cozy,_" thought Helen. She opened her eyes. The pure, hygienic white colour of the room made her think of an infirmary. This hunch was confirmed when she looked around to see a few other large, white hospital beds in the same room, a couple of which were occupied.

"What happened?" wondered Helen aloud. "How did I end up here? Was I dreaming all along about those magicians?" Her line of thought was interrupted when a nurse entered the room with a clipboard floating next to her. Apparently, it hadn't been a dream, and at that point, Helen remembered the events that occurred when she was last conscious. She remembered the flying broomstick ride, the terrible crash, the vicious blond man, and…

…her heart panged. If he was telling the truth, and she didn't see why he would have lied about such a thing, Miss Marvin was… dead. It felt as though her insides had been weighted down merely with the thought that the only person who she ever cared about, or she knew ever cared about her, was gone. She didn't cry, or even sniff. She lay down, staring ahead at nothing, unmoving. Her insides felt heavier and heavier, more and more like weights, holding her down to the large bed, which she felt like never leaving. She felt so unaware that she didn't notice when a familiar cloaked man sat beside her bed.

"Excuse me," said the man "Are you awake?"

Helen turned her head so quickly that she knocked it against the bed's frame. "Ouch!" Once again, there was the cloaked man, with his sleek, shiny black hair and piercing blue eyes. Standing behind him was a woman who seemed to be in her early forties. Her hair was indescribable, "_except maybe for _'_physically impossible_'_ and _'_pink_'", thought Helen. She was covered lime-green robes, and had a clipboard and a feather floating behind her.

"I'll take that as a yes," said the man. The woman turned her head and muttered something, and the feather made a mark on the clipboard.

Helen looked at the man with a mixture of apprehension and frustration. "You wouldn't mind if I start asking some questions now, do you?" she asked. "I've been through all but hell and I'm no closer to getting any answers; I could make a pretty damn long list!"

"If the memory charm still won't work, I suppose that would be the best course of action." He turned to the woman with the ridiculous pink hair. "Did the obliviator come by?" he asked.

"He did," said the woman in an unusually terse voice. "He said to tell you that 'he's just as vexed as before' and that 'she's your problem, now'."

"Bugger," said the man. "Well, I think we'd do best to have this conversation elsewhere. I'll take you to my flat."

Helen was about to get up when she remembered why she was in the bed in the first place. "But my leg, it's…"

"Completely healed," said the pink-haired woman. "It only took a minute, but you've been asleep for the past five hours, so we moved you to this bed."

Helen stared at her incredulously before she realized that there hadn't been a pain in her leg since she had woke up. She tried getting out of bed, and did it as easily as she had in her whole life.

"Good, let's get moving," said the man. They walked outside, and the man led her down the corridor by her shirtsleeve.

They walked through another door into an empty room. It was almost completely empty except for a large, lit fireplace and a large pot next to it. They stopped in front of the fireplace. The man opened the pot, which was filled with what looked like green dust or soot. Helen leaped back in shock when he threw the dust onto the flames, causing them to turn bright green.

"Go in after me and say the same thing I do," he said. "No wait…"

He pulled out his magic wand, and made a small scrap of brown paper (Was it parchment?) and a white feather quill appear from thin air. He paused for a second, waved his wand again, and a bottle of ink appeared as well. He dipped the feather quill into the ink and wrote down on the piece of parchment. He handed it to her. It said:

**Number one, Churchill Place, Room 10-6**

"Be sure to pronounce it as clearly as possible," he said. "Otherwise… just follow my lead." He stepped into the flames, making Helen cringe. The flames didn't seem to affect him in the slightest. Suddenly, he enunciated quite clearly, "Number One, Churchill Place, Room Ten-Six."

The flames jumped, swallowing his figure. When they died down, he had vanished.

Helen promptly fell on her behind when the flames revealed the man's absence. Where had he gone? What had happened? Was it supposed to happen? She got to her feet and contemplated what to do know. She had no idea what had happened to the man. She looked at the paper scrap she had been given.

"Number one, Churchill Place, Room ten-six…"

The man had mentioned a flat, so this must be his apartment building and room number. Had the flames somehow taken him there? Perhaps he was supposed to shoot up the chimney and something had gone wrong. She wondered whether she should try going outside and asking for help, maybe even try and leave of her on accord and try to forget everything that had happened to her in the past twenty-four hours. Alas, she realized, she had no idea where she was, and figured that she would likely get lost. She had no money, so she couldn't take a bus or hire a cab, even if she managed to find out where she was. She decided to follow the man's instructions. The flames had turned back to a bright yellow, so she grabbed a fistful of the green dust. It seemed to have a powdery sort of consistency in her hand. She threw it on the fire, and it turned green once more. She reached out her hand to feel the fire. It felt warm from a distance. She gulped, and reached her hand out towards the flames. It still felt warm, but as her hands approached the flames, they did not feel any warmer, until her hand was touching the green flames, which did not burn. She cautiously stepped into the fireplace. She looked at the paper again. "_I have to pronounce it clearly_," she thought. Then she remembered how the man had begun to say "otherwise", but had not finished the thought. She felt like she had frozen over on the outside, while her nerves caused her insides to churn heatedly. She realized that if she waited too long, the flames would revert back to their yellow, burning hot state. Yet still she hesitated. She couldn't bring herself to speak aloud. She felt herself crumple under the pressure. She even thought she felt the heat rise inside the fireplace, when suddenly she shouted at the top of her voice, "NUMBER ONE, CHURCHILL PLACE, ROOM TEN-SIX!"

At one, she began to spin in the fireplace, and several images began to flash by, as if the room were changing shape faster than her eyes could follow. Suddenly, she came to a stop, as the fireplace seemed to spit her out, and she was sprawled out upon a polished oak wooden floor. She looked up and saw the cloaked man.

"So, you wanted to ask me some questions?" he asked.


	7. Room 10-6, Part Two

Helen got up and dusted herself off. The flat seemed comfy and well kept, but there wasn't much else to it. The living room consisted only of a table and a single tall, wooden chair in which the man was sitting. "_Does he just sit there for hours on end?_" she thought humorously.

"Oh; pardon me," said the man.

He waved his magic wand and caused another identical chair to appear opposite of him. Helen walked up behind the chair. She reached out her two hands and touched the chair's headrest.

"I meant for you to sit in it," said the man suddenly.

Helen felt taken aback, and was quite frustrated with the man. "I know perfectly well how to use a chair, oh great and powerful one," she found herself saying as she sat down.

"Er, yes," he said his brow furrowing. "Your questions?"

"Are you a magician?" She followed up speedily.

The man paused momentarily before answering "In a manner of speaking… I am not a performer or illusionist…"

"I sort of figured you weren't the type to pull rabbits out of hats," said Helen snarkily. She felt a great deal of pleasure in being a smartass to this person who had found it inconvenient to answer any questions the first several times they met, and whom she suspected had tried to give her amnesia. "I meant to ask if you were a real magician, or sorcerer."

"Yes…" he said. He seemed to be picking up on Helen's attitude towards him. "The preferred term is wizard. I can indeed perform actual magic…"

"Like sparkly lights and flying on broomsticks?" asked Helen, as she put her elbows on the table. She was feeling more and more comfortable as she stared him down. She couldn't even form coherent thoughts about what she thought about him. All she felt as she spoke was an indescribably casual feeling of malice. "What's your name anyways? Merlin? Mordo? Gandalf?"

"My name is Jake Rawlins. I'm a…"

"Sounds familiar," said Helen blandly. "But why so secretive Mr. Rawlins? How come I've never heard of real magic before? How many people know about you and all of those other weird suits… or robes, whatever?"

"Not very many, and if this is how muggles usually behave when they're made privy to…" said Rawlins, as he began to show signs of irritation.

Helen giggled. "What'd you just call me?" she asked. She was drunk with the malice that was the result of all of her pent-up frustration. "What was that silly, stupid word that you used?"

Rawlins sighed. "I think you could use a drink; well…" he said, his eyes narrowing at her. "…not a _drink_ drink. At _this _rate…" he said, lacing his phrasing with an odd strain of disdain.

He flicked his wand towards what seemed to be a kitchen. A medium-sized pitcher floated back towards them, followed by two glasses. They stopped above the table. The pitcher poured itself and floated away, as the glasses fluttered down in front of each of them.

"What's that?" Helen asked, pointed at the dark orange liquid in her glass. "Magical moon juice?"

"It's Pumpkin Juice," said Rawlins. "You don't have to drink it if you don't want to. It's not poisoned," he added, in response to a defiantly contemptuous look from Helen.

"Odd," said Helen. "I never suggested that it was _poisoned_…"

"Nope," said Rawlins, who sipped from his glass while looking at Helen in a demeaning fashion.

Helen grimaced at him, as he licked his lips mockingly. Helen was thirsty, and so she took a sip as well, never having believed it to be really poisoned. It was pleasantly sweet and fantastically refreshing. It was more consistent than normal juice, but far, far less so than a shake or smoothie; it did indeed taste clearly of pumpkin. Helen would have enjoyed it far more had she been in a better mood, but the drink did manage to wash away her feelings of spite.

"Are you perhaps feeling more agreeable now?" asked Rawlins.

Helen couldn't answer. It had felt good for the malevolence to have lifted, but it now left her without the emotions to respond to Rawlins; still defiant and cross, without the malice, she felt unable to attack him further even though she still thought she wished to.

She continued to glare at him, as she sipped from the glass, making her conversely less troubled and more discontent.

"Is that better? Let's continue then. I…"

The table began to shake. Rawlins looked at Helen. She was trembling, and her grimace seemed to be growing darker and darker. Suddenly, she buried her head into her arms. Rawlins stood up. He could hear her silently weeping into her shirtsleeves.

"Should I leave you be, Miss?" asked Rawlins tentatively.

"You… you… you…" Helen continued crying quietly.

"Miss…" began Rawlins.

"YOU!" shouted Helen. "YOU DIDN'T TELL ME ANYTHING!" She sobbed loudly as she exclaimed. "YOU WOULDN'T TELL ME ANYTHING ABOUT WHAT WAS HAPPENING! YOU WOULDN'T TELL ME WHAT WAS HAPPENING AND NOW SH-SHE'S DEAD!" Her voice broke apart on the word dead, and she continued to sob uncontrollably.

Rawlins looked piteously upon her. After a minute with her crying showing no signs of letting up, he took his wand out and tapped her on the shoulder. She looked up, still sobbing and sniffling. He pointed his wand at her face and a tiny fountain of water drizzled on her face. A spark of anger suddenly rose within her at the thought of such a solution that was used for calming children was being used on her. But it did calm her down, and when her anger evaporated quicker than it came, she felt somewhat better. Mr. Rawlins pulled a handkerchief out of thin air with his wand and gave it to Helen. She wiped her face and as she did so, her resolve strengthened and her misery hardened. Once she stopped drying her face, she looked directly at Mr. Rawlins.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Then allow me to explain to you," he said.

_**Tune in next time for the EXPOSITION CHAPTER!**_

…

…_**Yay.**_


	8. Room 10-6, Part Three

"I am a wizard," were the first words that came out of Jake Rawlins's mouth. "That means I have magical power that I am able to channel through the use of a wand."

Helen stayed silent.

"Would you like a demonstration?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Don't care," she muttered.

"Anyways," he continued after a second, "I am under the employ of the Ministry of Magic."

"Is that a secret department of the government?" Helen asked.

"It's actually a separate government of our own world," he replied.

"Your own world?"

"Wizards and Witches may inhabit the same planet as you do, but we live entirely separate realities. Your reality is one without us."

"And yours is one without us?" Helen asked incredulously.

"A very good question," he replied.

Helen stared at him blankly.

"We are very much aware of you. When I say separate realities, I'm being subjective."

"And you keep yourselves secret…"

"Magic," he answered matter-of-factly.

"Of course," she replied just as matter-of-factly, but then she shook her head. "No, not how! Why! I meant to ask _why_ you keep yourselves hidden!"

There was a pause before Jake Rawlins spoke, "Miss…"

"Bradley."

"Miss Bradley," he said, "If you were a thousand-to-one minority among people whose culture reviled their way of life and means to survival, would _you _feel safe around them if they knew what you were?"

Helen stared back. Though she could comprehend, she could not imagine.

"Reviled?"

"Centuries ago, wizards and muggles…"

"What's that word you keep using?" she asked.

"Muggles are people who don't have magical power, like you. Muggles are, I suppose you call yourselves, _normal_ people."

"Okay." She suddenly cringed, remembering hearing the word at the orphanage.

"_Is that the muggle bitch's name?"_

Mr. Rawlins continued. "Centuries ago, wizards and muggles coexisted with full knowledge of each other. It wasn't always peaceful, but it was manageable. But when muggles let superstition guide their judgment of us, they responded to us with violence. Over time, more and more of us simply stopped having contact with muggles and in the early eighteenth century, secrecy of wizarding affairs and noninvolvement in muggle affairs was made international law."

"You can't tell me that everyone just suddenly forgot that you existed!" Suddenly she realized and thought, "_Yes, they could have_."

"Apparently you did. Now none of you remember magic ever existed, and none of you know that it still exists." He looked at the dismayed look on her face as she appeared deep in thought. "Is something wrong?"

She quickly came back to her surroundings. "No, it's nothing."

"Well now I can't remember where I started. Oh yes, the Ministry; the Ministry of Magic is our government, and is tasked with making and enforcing our laws. A lot of our laws involve preserving our secrecy. My job is that of an auror."

"What's an auror?" she asked.

"Aurors have many duties. We apprehend dangerous dark witches and wizards, rein in dangerous magical creatures, conduct crime investigations, defend the people, and help maintain security and secrecy."

"So you're like policemen? Or MI-5?"

"Are you five?" he said confusedly.

"Never mind," she said.

"Well, you could consider us like police, excepting that all of our duties involve serious crimes and security threats. We do not patrol looking for drunks, and any sorts of misdemeanors are handled by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Who was the person you were chasing when we first…" she would have felt awkward saying met, having heard it too many times in romantic contexts. "…saw… each other?"

Mr. Rawlins blinked, but then continued as if he hadn't been distracted by her phrasing.

"I was out on an errand," he said. "We happened to be in the same shop when he made the foolish decision to try and steal some of their merchandise. This store had an effective security charm to keep people from taking things without paying for them. He was exposed immediately. I figured that since I was there, I might as well apprehend the fool. I wish I had let him go; the slippery bastard led me on for at least a mile before I cornered him. I'm lucky he didn't disapparate. Maybe the idiot never learned how…"

"Disapper-what?"

"It's what we call 'teleportation'."

"Oh," she replied. She added teleportation to her mental list of magic powers.

"Well, you saw the rest," said Mr. Rawlins. "I used a stunning spell on him, and then I…"

"Teleported!" exclaimed Helen, having just put together how he and the man had vanished.

"Disapparated," he corrected.

"Yes…" said Helen.

Both of them became silent. They both knew the next topic would be, and neither of them wanted to bring it up.

"What happened to the orphanage?" Helen finally asked quietly.

"It's very complicated," he said, "considering how much you still don't know…"

"I have to know," she said firmly, "Ms. Marvin was the closest thing I had to family."

Seconds passed before Mr. Rawlins answered. "I assume now that you grew up in that orphanage."

"Yes."

"This isn't going to be pleasant," he said, looking down grimly. He looked back up before continuing. "The culprit had dropped out of Hogwarts a few years ago."

"He what?"

"Hogwarts is the largest school of magic in the British Isles. Almost all young witches and wizards attend it in their youth, myself included. Anyways, he dropped out, and did not apply for a job. His parents kicked him out after about a year. He wasn't in contact with anyone, so we don't know much about what happened afterwards. About a year ago, a muggle man named Mullins was found dead, but the muggle police were unable to find a cause. That's what brought us onto the case, as we found that he had been killed with magic. Months later, the same happened with a childless couple named Coke; and just last month, it was a woman named Wilkinson. We had been able to connect these murders, but it wasn't until tonight that we found the man behind them, and then the motive was easy enough to put together. From what we gather, after being kicked out by his parents, he had found others to provide for him."

"What? How…" began Helen.

"It's a spell called 'The Imperius Curse'. It's illegal to use it, because it allows you to control a person's actions. Apparently, he used it on the muggles and forced them to provide for him; meals, laundry, sleeping quarters, and whatever else he wanted."

"That's terrible… wait, wouldn't people notice if he was forcing them to let him stay with them?"

"It seems he did not let them interact with anyone, for fear that any sort of contact they had would give him away. Still, people who knew them would notice if they were suddenly silenced. People did show up at these peoples' homes, and he managed to turn them away for some time, possibly with memory charms or confundus charms, though we think it was the latter. Things do tend to pile up, so he was eventually forced to flee, but not before killing his caretakers to make sure they didn't identify him. By a terrible stroke of luck, the next place he came across was the orphanage. He took advantage of the staff there and lived like a king after killing all of the children and stashing their bodies away."

Helen gasped quietly. She thought she felt her heart stop for a moment as she thought of the children. She knew none of them personally, but she had seen some of them when visiting Ms. Marvin, and she sympathized with them. She imagined if she were there… would he have killed her like the children, or enslaved her like the adults? Mr. Rawlins continued.

"By this time, we knew what he was doing, but not why or who he was. After narrowing down his possible hideouts; or in retrospect, his dwellings; we acted, and to my surprise, you just so happened to be there. You, of all people; what were you doing there?"

"Oh!" she said, suddenly brought back to her senses. "I saw the photographs on your desk of all of those locations. I thought something bad was going to happen. I had seen a photograph with a man riding a flying broom, so I took one of the brooms from the cabinet in the office. I left the building, and flew on it to the orphanage. I couldn't land it, so I ended up crashing and breaking my leg. I didn't know he was inside, so I called for help. Ms. Marvin opened the door and brought me inside, but she acted strangely and tried to strangle me, and then…" she swallowed "…he killed her. I didn't realize it at the time, but he said that… that he…"

She blinked as her eyes began to water up.

"He said that she was dead."

Mr. Rawlins looked solemnly at Helen. "She and a few other workers were killed. We think his mental state deteriorated rapidly after killing all of those children, and being in control of so many people at once." He unsuccessfully tried to look her in the eye. "I'm very sorry."

Helen felt the worst that she had all day. Ms. Marvin had been killed when Helen had come, afraid of what might have happened to her. But what could she have done to help? She should've stayed behind. As she and Mr. Rawlins sat opposite each other in total silence, Helen steadily became more and more convinced that it was her fault that Ms. Marvin had died.


	9. Back to the Office

_New synonym for useless: this website's spellcheck. Time to meet new and interesting people!_

Helen lay awake on Jake Rawlins's bed. She would've sworn afterward that days had passed since he had left, telling her to pull herself together while he was gone, saying she could read a book or grab something to eat if she wanted. She did not feel like reading or eating, so she lay on the bed, trying to sleep even though it could have only been late-midday. Few thoughts passed through her head, and left soon after as though they had somewhere else to be. In this state of unthinking, she did not have to ponder past guilt, present problems, or future doubts.

Her mind was finally stirred into thought that evening when she vaguely heard a voice outside the bedroom. She got up and walked out slowly, like a sleepwalker. Only now that she was up and about did she feel tired. A green light glowed, brightening the room slightly. This got her attention, and she waited for him to step out. No one came out. After a minute, she walked up in front of the fireplace. It was a disembodied head.

"Hello!" said the head.

Helen shrieked. As she shrieked, she reflexively kicked the head in its face. The head fell backwards and out of sight. Her foot followed and got stuck in the fire. She tripped, fell forward, and with a rush of green flames, she came out a different fireplace and fell onto the floor of a familiar office. He got up and saw the face that she had just kicked, now connected to the rest of its body.

"Oog," said the man sprawled on his back, "that's not the worst reaction from a woman meeting me for the first time, but still…" He had very curly black hair, black eyes, and a tall, thin nose. When they both got up, he seemed to be only a couple of inches taller than Helen. He was bleeding from his nose and mouth.

"Oh!" Helen exclaimed, "Your face!"

The man rolled his eyes and grinned, "yeah, it is quite an ugly mug innit?"

"No, your nose…"

"Oh, yeah," he said, as though he only just noticed it, which Helen was wondering whether he did or not. He pointed his wand at his nose. "Episkey," he said, stopping the flow of blood trickling from his nose. He repeated the spell on his cut mouth. Then he conjured a handkerchief, which he wiped his bloodied face with. "Are you Jake's bird or something?" he asked casually.

Helen was offended by the insinuation and her temper flared, but considering the character he had exhibited as of yet, there seemed to be no spite in the remark, and her temper lowered to an uneasy sizzle before she could lash out at him. She glared at the curly-haired man as he grinned back.

"I'll take that as a no," he said, as he continued to grin insufferably at her. "Are you his sister?"

More silence.

"His brother's bird?"

A grin and a glare.

"His cousin's bird?"

Two unbreakable stares.

"His dad's bird?"

Helen slapped him.

"Well, I ain't exactly any closer to figuring who you are. You have a name? What's your name?"

"Bradley," she said tersely. "Helen Bradley."

"Well, Bradley Helen Bradley," said the man, "you happen to know where Jake is?"

"Don't know. Why don't you ask him? He's around here, isn't he?"

"Sure, but I think he's under an invisibility cloak, and I'll need your help to find him," he said. "OH!" he said suddenly, "I just realized!"

"What?" asked Helen confusedly.

"Name's Jack. Pleased to meet you."

He offered a handshake, which Helen reluctantly accepted amidst a groan.

"Well, I guess I might as well head home, I can give Jake my half of the report tomorrow I suppose."

Just then, green flames burst from the fireplace, and in a flash, Jake Rawlins emerged.

"Ah, speak of the devil! Jake, I have that report you wanted…" started Jack.

"No time, Poe," interrupted Jake, "Just leave the report on my desk, and I'll look at it tomorrow morning."

"You did tell me to give it to you in person. At least put it on your desk yourself," said Jack as he raised the report over his head.

Jake pointed his wand at the report, and with a burst of energy, it flew out of Jack's hand and landed cleanly on his deck.

"Thanks," said Jack cheerfully. "Now, where might I needed?" he inquired with a mock air of importance.

"A murder scene," said Jake simply. "Let's go…" he began to turn around when he finally noticed Helen. "Er, Miss Bradley... what are you doing here? I thought I told you to wait for me to return."

"So I guess I'd still be waiting if I hadn't gotten up and about?" suggested Helen grumpily.

"Is there _really_ nothing between you two?" asked Jack.

"Quiet, Jack," said Jake. "Helen, go home, will you? Me and Mr. Poe have an investigation to wrap up."

Helen folded her arms and glared at him.

"Come on, Helen, a murder is no place for a wo… for a mug… civilian to be."

"Go back to a stranger's flat and wait patiently for hours on end for their return?" she asked rhetorically. "Fair enough. Here's another decent request. Go to hell."

"How childish," accused Jake.

"Cute," said Jack unironically.

They stood in silence for a minute.

"Well," said Jake, "If you won't go back to the flat, stay here and don't touch anything. Look around, BUT NOT IN THE FOLDERS!" He said suddenly, as though interrupting himself. "Just don't touch anything."

"How do you look in a folder without touching it?" Asked Jack.

Jake groaned. "Let's go, I know the place's name, so we'll go together."

Jake grabbed some green powder and flung it into the fireplace before entering with Jack. Helen focused on the fireplace, remaining stark still; waiting for them to leave. She didn't even hear Jake say the name of the place as she prepared her leap into action. Just as the green flames rose above the figures of the two wizards, she leapt into the flames after them.


End file.
